Howl
by Angeladdict
Summary: Jaime Lannister, prisoner of the Starks, is released for one reason. Sansa Stark, prisoner of the Lannisters, is wed to one of their own. They are thrown together unwillingly, starting a tale of intrigue, betrayal, and violence.
1. Chapter 1

Her eyes stared ahead blankly and she took in the news. There was no expression on her face and the only sign of life was her racing heartbeat. Cercei's cold eyes watched her with little concern before she continued, with a twist of the lips that would have been a smile on any other face. "Are you not excited, little dove? We are to be sisters, you and I, tied together forever."

The words sounded in her ears and she blinked dully. It had been foolish to allow herself to feel, to hope. The Lannisters would never relinquish their hold on her.

After several seconds she forced herself to speak. It was an emotionless, dull voice that responded. "I find I am just surprised, My Lady. Of course I am happy to be so joined to the Lannisters in such a lasting way."

Sansa stared at Cercei, barely listening to the words that flowed from her, like poison from a vial. The only control she had any longer was the control she had over her emotions. She would not allow any Lannister to ever see what she felt, to have that advantage over her. She would control every emotion and play any role she needed to. She would hide the hatred, nurse it inside of her and allow it to grow until it consumed all. And she would not allow herself to feel. She would become cold hard stone and survive

"I do imagine you have much to think about. I'm sure we can talk of wedding plans later, when you have become accustomed to the idea."

Though she craved to be left alone, she would not allow Cercei to grant her anything, to let her think she could not handle herself in any situation. She smiled evenly, her eyes as cold as her rival's. "I find I am already overjoyed at the idea. As I long to be bound to Jaime as soon as possible, I would talk of plans now so as to speed the process."

Cercei inclined her head, taking the change in Sansa in stride. She had expected the girl to weep or withdraw into herself. The girl had not been one to play any games thus far except that of survival. She found herself wondering if she now planned to become an active player. The thought didn't bother Cercei. She had been playing all her life and had no qualms with adding another opponent to the board.

* * *

"I'll be damned before I marry the little chit." Jaime Lannister's fist collided with the table, causing ale to spill across it. A malformed dwarf smiled at him in amusement, leaning back into his chair to better survey his golden brother.

"In my assessment you're already quite damned, dear brother." Quipped the dwarf cheerfully.

"I've no time for your jokes, Tyrion. I come home after many trials and am immediately thrown into a new hell." Jaime glared, pacing back and forth. "Dammit, Tyrion, I've no time for a wife! Especially not a ridiculous thing such as that slip of a girl."

Tyrion raised a brow, "Have you laid eyes on the Lady Sansa since you were last here? She has much changed from the small, silly girl you knew."

"I don't care!" Jaime roared. "How is this even a possibility? It is a ridiculous situation. It is an insult to the honor of the Kingsguard to allow me to marry. No king should be able to release a man from such a sacred vow."

Tyrion snorted loudly and ignored the look his brother shot him. "Honestly, Jaime. You have to admit it's laughable for you to use that excuse. Our wonderful sister and father will have their way and you shall marry the Stark girl whether or not you have the inclination. You may as well reconcile yourself to the idea and make the best. It's really not such a poor bargain. It's not as though you were planning to take a different wife and the Stark girl is rather pretty. I doubt it will be such a hardship to you to attend to any husbandly duties that are required of you." He drank deeply and then continued, "Is there any real reason you object so strongly?"

Jaime stared at him, silently cursing him. His logic was infallible and Jaime could already see he was being unreasonable. His mind flashed back to that meeting, the four Lannister's gathered around the table in the firelight.

He remembered his father's voice, his tone and manner as though he was discussing the weather as he explained how his oldest son's life would change. He didn't ask, he commanded.

It burned him how he had waited for Cercei to object, to defend him. But she had watched him silently her expression calm and almost amused. Jaime had argued weakly then, insisting he had taken a vow, that Tyrion was better suited to marriage.

Tywin had laughed in his face, brushing aside his feeble protestations as he would the tears of a woman._ "Tyrion could never be accepted by the people in the North. A strong, respectable man is needed. Joffrey has already agreed to let out of your obligation to the Kingsguard. If we are to maintain control we cannot allow the Tyrells to gain more power. I will hear no more discussion of this. You will do what is necessary and marry the Stark girl. Now leave me, you're giving me a headache."_

The humiliation rang in his mind and he pounded the table again, anger welling. "I do not enjoy having my life dictated for me." Jaime growled.

Tyrion surveyed him. "I understand this is not an easy situation. However, I have given you the best counsel I am able. Make the best out of the situation and keep an open mind."

Jaime nodded swiftly, and said as gratefully as possible, "Your advice is well received, brother. I find that I grow weary. I will retire to my chambers and think upon the situation further."

He bade his brother a civil goodnight and walked to his room, pushing the door open harshly. He found her there, waiting in his bed. She glanced at him briefly before sipping from her wine cup. His face tightened and he strode to her. "I do not have the patience tonight."

A smile curved her lips and the wine only made her lips redder. "You wish for me to go?"

He started to take off his boots and glared at her sharply. "I merely wish for no more games!"

Cercei sat up, the smile leaving her lips. "This is the best option for us, Jaime. I have worked too long to have the Lannister's position threatened! This arrangement will not harm our relationship. You will be able to stay in the castle and will only have to bed the girl a few times to make sure she carries your seed." She caught his chin as he looked away from her. Her hand stroked his cheek and all resolve he had melted. "Look at me, Jaime. You must do this for us."

He stared into her eyes and nodded after a moment's hesitation. The smile returned to her lips and he claimed them with his own, pushing her back onto his bed; sinking into oblivion with her.

.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa watched herself objectively in the mirror, blue eyes devoid of emotion. Her russet hair was being wound up onto her head, painfully pinned to resemble the Southern style that was so popular. Her maid, a harsh woman, aged and plain, clucked over Sansa's thin frame and pale skin, hands pinching her white cheeks.

The handmaiden attending to her hair was not gentle, tugging strands into place without a care. Sansa barely felt the pain, thinking instead of how wrong everything felt. It was her wedding day. Her father should have made the match to someone he deemed fit. Her mother should be running her hands through her hair, beaming and whispering secrets of married life. Arya should be teasing her and telling her how silly it is to care about stupid dresses and hair. She should be at Winterfell, surrounded by family and friends.

Instead she was being wed to the man who had aided in her father's death. Whom he had despised to his last breath. Instead her sister was missing, presumed dead and her mother was leagues away. Instead she was surrounded by people who hated her.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she didn't see the innocent girl she had once been, nor the strong, stony woman she had promised herself she would be; she saw a shivering girl in her slip, bruised and battered and weak. Tears welled and she pretended it was because of the violent pulling of her hair by a cruel handmaiden.

* * *

Jaime ran agile fingers through his hair in an unconscious nervous habit, as a serving boy raced into the room. "Milord, we've been searching everywhere for you. You were supposed to be getting ready hours ago."

"Yes, yes. I'm coming," He said as he stood unevenly. The serving boy gave him an uncertain glance as he swayed on his feet, but didn't comment. Jaime followed the boy to his chambers and was swiftly bombarded by people muttering softly and pulling at different parts of him. He tuned them out blearily and sat, signaling to the boy for some ale. He'd lost count of the number of cups he'd consumed already. Tyrion would laugh at him later for it. _I'm the drunken fool, Jaime. Stop trying to imitate me._

But who was Jaime anymore? Jaime Lannister was never to take a wife. Jaime Lannister was supposed to die childless and in battle. That was his fate.

Instead he was chained to a silly girl of a family he had nothing but scorn for. Instead he was to make little wolf lion cubs with her. It was so very bizarre. He laughed softly at the strange happenings of life and found he couldn't stop. Soon he was laughing madly to himself and the people surrounding him watched in fear or pity. Why was he laughing? Nothing was funny. He finally recovered himself and stared soberly at himself in the mirror, wishing he could wake up from the strange dream his life had become.

* * *

The words fell out of her mouth dully like bricks crumbling from a wall. She stared at him passively while she recited them, meeting his stony green eyes.

She had had a vague recollection of him from before. It seemed like eons ago now. So much had happened. His blond hair was duller than she remembered and his eyes greener. She had, however, remembered his slightly crooked nose and brilliant white teeth perfectly. His expression mirrored hers, void of emotion and cold.

As she surveyed him, she realized he scared her. Not in the way Joffrey scared her. His indifference and annoyance when he glanced at her intimidated her in a way that was different from the way Joffrey's hate-filled looks made her feel.

Cold hands squeezed her shoulders and her eyes widened in shock. Joffrey's hands lingered on her as he painstakingly removed her cloak embroidered with the Stark symbol. It burned her that he was the one to stand in for her father, the man whose death he had orchestrated. He made sure to claw her cruelly as he pulled it away. She waited motionlessly as Jaime draped the red and gold cloak around her shoulders. Such a simple motion that symbolized so much. The marriage ceremony was over. She was a Lannister. She bit her lip as she held in the wave of emotions that flooded through her. Jaime's eyes flicked past her face quickly as he took her hand. He had a calloused hand, but it was warm and strong.

They hadn't spoken a single word to each other, except for the traditional words of the ceremony. Her heart hurt and she couldn't decide if she wanted him to pretend to have an interest in her, or if it was better this way. People around them chattered excitedly but they were silent. He didn't look at her as he led her to their table, and she avoided his eyes in return. Nobles congratulated them with smiling pleasantries and she nodded wordlessly. Her face had lost the ability to smile.

"You seem overflowing with joy, little dove." Cercei was dressed in brilliant rose-red silks that made Sansa felt like a wilted daisy in comparison. Her eyes shone with their usual malice and Sansa replied as evenly as she could, "I have no words to truly express the emotions I feel right now."

Cercei's eyes narrowed at the comment and Sansa felt a fleeting moment of some emotion other than sorrow. "I'm sure Jaime feels similarly to you." Her eyes swept over her twin briefly with an emotion Sansa couldn't identify, before she looked back at Sansa. "To the happy couple." She said demurely, before raising her glass to her lips. Sansa saw Jaime's jaw clench out of the corner of her eye.

Tyrion was next, quipping well intentioned jokes which Sansa tried to pretend to appreciate. His was the first smile she believed.

Her back stiffened when Joffrey approached them, a beaming Margaery on his arm. His eyes glinted with the same malice in Cercei's as he leaned towards her and said, "You look lovely, Sansa. I'm so very glad to have made this marriage a possibility. I'm sure you two will be very happy."

Sansa didn't reply and Joffrey continued, "You'll save me a dance, won't you Sansa? I'm sure my Uncle will allow me to _borrow _you."

Sansa nodded stonily, her hand clenching and unclenching under the table. She breathed a soft sigh of relief when Joffrey left, her entire body relaxing from its tensed position. Congratulations ended at that, signaling the beginning of the meal. After that there would be dancing and small talk, then the bedding. She rubbed a delicate, pale hand across her face, dread slowly building. Her new husband was as silent as ever, and she still couldn't tell what that meant. Considering recent events, she was assuming the worst.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Still a while away but I want to be really careful and warn any readers that certain events in this story could be __triggers/ triggering__. I'll give a warning at the beginning of certain chapters just to ensure that everyone reading this is warned. Anyways, I hope you guys are enjoying. Feedback is always treasured and welcomed. __ (Also, I wanted to let you guys know that in my mind, Sansa is aged up to about 17/18. That's just the age I personally visualize her at)_

He had been surprised. He hadn't seen her in over a year, and in the grand scheme of things a year was a very short amount of time. She'd changed. More than he thought was possible. Of course she had been living with his family for a longer period of time than any human ought. He hadn't paid any attention to her of course, so his memory of her was foggy at best. What he remembered had been boring and tediously similar to everything he despised in the opposite sex. A stick figure, giggly and concerned with dresses and knights; the lack of knowledge apparent in her eyes.

Now he almost yearned to see that. She was still thin, but was the type of thin every woman desired to be, with curves instead of the girlish flatness of youth. Admittedly, when he first saw her walking towards him, he could tell she was beautiful. She had the characteristics many women strived for; high cheekbones, thick red hair, pale even skin, and a trim frame.

Her eyes were what struck him. They were a pale blue grey that held such depths that he felt her could be swallowed whole by them if he stared too long. They were haunting and whispered of horrors and pain, things that made him shiver. He had been captivated by them as they met his own, luring him closer and closer. Sansa had blinked and the moment had ended; her eyes were a simple light blue that seemed empty and hollowed.

Sansa jumped when Jaime spoke, looking directly at her. "Does the food not appeal to you?" She glanced at him, hands curling and uncurling in a nervous habit. "No, it's fantastic. Really."

He snorted and met her eyes for the second time that night, before his gaze flicked down to her plate. "I think it would be difficult for you to ascertain that considering you haven't put a single shred of food into your mouth. Are you able to taste food with your eyes, Lady Sansa?"

Sansa blushed and fumbled for words, "Ah no. I just- I- I'm not very hungry but-"

"I see. You're too scared of your new husband to eat." His tone had an edge and Sansa couldn't tell if he was teasing her or was completely serious. Her hand shook as she stabbed a piece of roast duck with her fork and lifted it to her lips. It tasted like ash.

"How is it? Is it _fantastic_?" Jaime drawled, eyes focused on her mouth.

Sansa swallowed and nodded hesitantly, eyes focused on her plate. His gaze lingered for a few more seconds and he only looked away when Tyrion distracted him with a lighthearted question about the festivities. She had thought she wanted him to address her and acknowledge her existence, but his biting tone and scathing eyes made her feel even worse than being invisible.

She jumped at the feel of a firm and calloused hand gripping her arm. Jaime leaned closer and said, "Time to dance. We're all performers tonight."

Her brow furrowed but she allowed herself to be led from the table. Dread built slowly and her stomach lurched in anticipation. The music was lighthearted and cheerful, discordant and clashing to her ears. They should be playing a funeral tune, if they wanted to accurately accompany the event.

Jaime's grip was strong and she barely had to hold herself up, allowing him to guide them in time to the music. She didn't glance at him and he stared above her head, eyes focused on something out of her sight. They were both silent and Sansa found solace in it.

The girl was light as a feather, and glided easily as he led her across the floor. She was a quiet thing and he was already frustrated by her timid nature. He didn't have the patience to coax and reassure, to make anyone feel soft and fuzzy and safe. His eyes met Cercei's from across the room. She was still and motionless, standing in the corner holding a glass of wine. One of her fingers trailed in the glass, swirling the liquid around and around. She raised an eyebrow at him, and her eyes held an unspoken promise in them that he answered with his own.

Another couple moved to block his line of sight and his gaze shifted away from her. He felt the girl's heartbeat quicken against his own chest and he realized he'd grasped her more tightly than he'd intended. Instead of apologizing he smirked down at her, "Do I make you nervous, little wolf?"

He saw her visibly gulp and she responded in her soft voice, "_No. . .Yes_."

Several moments passed and then he whispered in reply, "Good."


	4. Chapter 4

_This story isn't a very happy story, in case you guys didn't know. You've been warned._

They returned to their table after several dances, Jaime's hand clamped around her arm. It merely served as a more visible reminder that she was prisoner of the Lannister's. Tyrion was still seated there, and he smiled warmly at her. She found herself wishing half-heartedly to be wed to the other brother, instead of the broody silent one who regarded her with disdain. Jaime waited for her to sit, looking impatient at her speed, and then sat beside her. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, conscious of every small movement. He seemed as displeased at the festivities as she, which both angered and amused her. She was pleased that he wasn't enjoying himself, and that he suffered also. But on the other hand, she was enraged that he dared to pretend he was as miserable as she. She was pulled from her thoughts when the object of them thrust a goblet in front of her, filled to the brim with wine.

Her gaze shifted from the glass to his face, and she forced a smile. "No thank you, My Lord. I'm not very fond of the taste, and it makes my head spin."

"I very much recommend you drink it." Jaime responded .

Sansa shook her head, "I'm not very thirsty."

Jaime smiled and said evenly, leaning towards her "You're going to have the pleasure of getting stripped naked by strangers and then fucked by yours truly. I don't know about you, but personally, I would want to be as inebriated as possible for that." Her eyes widened briefly, before she regained her composure and accepted the goblet, hand shaking. Jaime pretended not to notice and she hated herself for feeling grateful.

The girl's breathing had slowed and she was more relaxed, her head resting against his chest as they swayed to the music. He knew better than to assume she had warmed to him, instead the more likely cause was the wine he had pushed into her hands, glass after glass. Regardless the cause, he was glad she no longer trembled and quivered like a terrified rabbit in his arms. It made him uncomfortable, and he hated the feeling of guilt that washed through him when she stared up at him with those bright blue eyes. Every time he looked at her, his oath to Catelyn rang in his mind. Instead of returning Sansa to her home, he had married her. Jaime told himself that he could protect her better this way. Perhaps one day, he could even return her to Winterfell, though he knew he didn't really believe that. His loyalties divided him. What did he really owe the Starks anyway? They meant nothing to him. It wasn't as though he had asked for this. He was carrying out his duty to his family. That was the most important thing.

Sansa stiffened against him, and he tightened his arms around her, following her gaze. Joffrey had stood up, and was tapping his knife against his glass, a huge grin plastered across his face.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the evening draws to a close and we have a very important tradition to carry out." He chuckled gleefully, eyes focused on Sansa. Joffrey clapped his hands as he called, "Well go on. Start the bedding ceremony!"

Cheers and laughter erupted in the hall as noblemen and women raced towards the couple on the dance floor.  
Sansa trembled in his arms and Jaime felt the annoyance of guilt prick him again. He gently separated himself from her, further annoyed at the pleading look she gave him. "Every bride suffers through this, it'll be no worse for you. Don't struggle and it'll be over quickly."

The words dropped from his mouth more harshly than he'd intended, and he cursed the feeling of regret that washed through him. He'd said much worse to many others, he refused to feel bad over a few unfeeling words to a Stark girl. Besides, it was better for her not to expect sympathy or help from anyone. It'd teach her that the only person she should rely on is herself. That was an invaluable lesson she should have learned long ago.

Sansa held Jaime's gaze for several seconds and found no pity in his eyes. The only emotion she could find on his face was exasperation with her. Terror and hurt stabbed at her, but she straightened her back and steeled herself. She wouldn't show weakness to the pack of wolves that pulled at her clothes and jeered, nor would she expect aid from the man she would call husband again. He would only disappoint her. She let herself be lifted by the crowd of catcalling men, silently and expressionlessly, holding in the sea of emotions that threated to spill out.

Hands tore at her clothes and pinched her, but Sansa closed her eyes and drowned out the crude jokes and bawdy laughter as they disrobed her.

They deposited her in Jaime's chambers, dumping her unceremoniously on the bed, leering at her as they left. She scrambled for covers and wrapped her naked body in the soft blankets, finally allowing tears to spill. Jaime and his entourage had not arrived yet, and she allowed herself a few seconds to compose herself. She had never felt so humiliated, and she had endured many things. She could still hear the men outside the door laughing and discussing her, calling,

"_Isn't she a pretty one.",_ and _"My, Ser Jaime's going to be having a nice tumble tonight, isn't he lads?"_

She heard giggles and pounding feet, and several seconds later Jaime arrived, unclothed and escorted by screeching women. They pushed him into the room, tripping over themselves mirthfully. The men called a few more jokes to the newlyweds, and then slammed the door leaving them in a deafening silence.

She was sitting on the bed, wrapped in covers when he entered, shivering. The room was unusually cold, and their lack of clothes only worsened that. Sansa very pointedly averted her eyes from him, pulling on loose tethers from the blanket. He ignored her and strode to the fireplace, bending to coax the blaze into something that would warm the room. He hated his father for putting him in this position, hated Cercei for not coming to his aid, hated Catelyn for making him take an oath he wouldn't keep, hated himself for not being a stronger, better person. Most of all he hated the girl on the bed for making him feel like such a damned monster, who made him feel things he didn't want to feel. He straightened and glanced at her, steeling himself. "Come here."

Sansa jumped when Jaime's voice broke the silence, and stared up at him. He was very naked, and she cursed herself for the blush that started every time she looked upon him. Her hands were sweaty and she wanted to sob, filled with terror and anticipation and hatred. She wanted to curl up and sleep, but also to just get over the dreaded event. She was terribly indecisive, and still didn't know if she would fight him and make it difficult, or try to please him and make it as pleasant as possible. She was going to vomit.

Sansa wrapped the covers around her tighter, and slid her feet onto the cool floor. She started to stand and startled at Jaime's gruff voice, "No, leave the blankets. A husband may look upon his wife, may he not?"

Sansa stared at her feet, breathing deeply. She noticed she was very pale. Suddenly, she was very self-conscious and very aware of every chiseled muscle on the tanned and toned body that Jaime possessed.

Jaime surveyed her calmly and poured them two glasses of wine. "Your husband is not a very patient person, dearest. I encourage you to hurry."

Sansa stood and let the covers drop, humiliation and hatred burning her up inside.

Jaime's eyes scrutinized her closely, raking up and down her exposed body. She was beautiful, and he was disgusted at himself for finding her to be. He wanted to impress upon her that he was no shy and innocent boy, but an experienced and commanding man. He was used to Cercei's bold and equally fierce ways, not the timid and docile attitude Sansa exhibited. Her mannerisms irritated him because he didn't know how to behave in response.

She stared at the floor, mutely. "Come drink with me, Sansa. We want it to be a night to remember, don't we? Isn't being married fun?"  
Sansa walked towards him and said softly, "You're drunk." She crossed her arms over her chest, embarrassment still coursing through her.

He nodded, taking a large gulp from his glass. "And you're not nearly drunk enough. You'll enjoy this a lot more if you are, trust me."

Sansa took the wine glass and said without thinking, "I wouldn't enjoy this even if I drank a sea of wine."

She regretted the words instantly and stilled, waiting for his rebuke.

He didn't say anything for several seconds, merely sweeping his glance over her again. Then he nodded and said soberly, "Yes, I imagine so."

She was taken aback by his serious tone, and swallowed the wine in a single gulp to excuse herself from a response. She hated being so close to him, and still trembled, longing to retreat to the blankets' safety.

Jaime gave her an irritated look, "Seven hells, can you stop shaking like a cowering bitch who's been kicked too much? You're giving me a headache."  
Sansa nodded shakily, cursing the lump in her throat that swelled.

Jaime sighed and scrubbed a weary hand across his face. "I just mean I'm not going to hurt you. You can stop acting so terrified." _No I'm just going to force you to marry me, rape you, and make you bear my children. I won't hurt you at all. _He couldn't blame Sansa for treating him like a criminal. He was one.

Jaime clapped his hands together and said light heartedly, "Very well, let's consummate this marriage."

He confused Sansa so. One minute he was silent and brooding, the next mean and harsh. Sometimes his actions hinted at underlying kindness, other times he would cruelly tease her. She had no idea what he was thinking, and it bewildered her how quickly he changed.

He pointed towards the bed, and she stumbled towards it, fighting to maintain her composure. She wouldn't cry in front of him, she would wait until she was alone or he slept. She would present an exterior that made her house proud.

Sansa scrambled into the bed, pulling the covers to her chin, grateful for the cover. Jaime made a tssking sounds, and stared at her. He then lifted himself up, and rolled to face her, peeling the blankets from her. She stared at a spot above the wall and lay still, refusing to help him.

Jaime watched her for several seconds, lying still and naked on top of the bed. She was very pale, and her russet hair glowed in the firelight. This should be easy for him. Most men would be elated to have a beautiful, young bride waiting to be liberated of her virginity. He reached a hand out and gently traced a hand down her side. She was soft and supple, every man's desire. She trembled beneath him, her breath brushing his face as her pulse increased. He carefully leaned over her, his fingers still lazily tracing her figure. Finally he spoke, unable to keep the words in.

"Have you ever been kissed Sansa?"

She nodded, tears clinging to the corners of her eyes as she stared at the ceiling. He brushed some hair from her face and then sighed. With one easy, confident movement, he rolled off her, and sat up.

Sansa watched him warily, relieved that he was no longer on top of her, but dreading his return. He hopped off the bed and bent down in the corner of the room. She heard something rustle and realized he was looking through a bag. Several seconds past and then Jaime returned, holding a knife. Her eyes widened as he leapt back onto the bed. She asked as calmly as she could manage, "What are you doing?"

He glanced at her, a smile curving his lips. "Deflowering you." He stretched out his hand and slid the knife across his palm. A small gasp escaped Sansa as a trickle of blood oozed from the cut. Jaime dipped his fingers in the blood and gently pulled her to him. He smeared the blood onto the spot where she had been laying and then matter-of-factly spread the rest on her inner thighs, making her gasp in surprise. He surveyed his handiwork and then left the bed. Sansa watched him stride to the basin and rinse the crimson from his hands, carefully cleaning the wound. She thought she was going to cry from relief..

"Leave the blood. I imagine the maids will inspect you in the morning and report to my dear father of our wicked actions." Jaime said absently.

He turned to face her and then said sternly, "This doesn't mean anything. Don't expect me not to take what belongs to me later. But for tonight, I will not touch you. You can sleep in peace."

Sansa pulled the covers to her chin, equally bewildered and allayed. So much had happened in one day and she was ready to sink into oblivion, where Lannisters' couldn't invade and torture her.

Jaime still confused her, and she didn't know what to make of his actions. She could feel his presence in the bed right next to her, heat radiating from him. Her misery seemed to only have been delayed for a few days. She would have to wait and see.


End file.
